


belly of the beast

by gengarchan



Series: a world alone [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi in a dress, Death Threats, Dirty Talk, Gunplay, M/M, Porn With Mild Plot, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gengarchan/pseuds/gengarchan
Summary: Kuroo and Akaashi indulge themselves.





	belly of the beast

**Author's Note:**

> me: write something to develop the plot and characters  
> also me: gunplay 
> 
> so this is a purely self-indulgent work post kill v. maim. it can be a stand alone fic tho sooooo 
> 
> there's guns and threats and possessive behavior so be careful friends but please enjoy!!

“Switch with me.” 

 

“This is reconnaissance Kuroo, not a school project.” 

 

He spots the way Kuroo’s lips twitch, following his fingers as he eyes— for the hundredth time that night— the way Akaashi's thigh teases between the slit of sleek material. 

 

“That’s gonna be the death of me, you know.” 

 

_That_ — he means the satin gown Akaashi’s currently sporting. Though it could hardly be considered a gown, he had mused to himself as he shimmied into it earlier that night. 

 

‘Gown’ implied something that was practical— clothing. Something to cover skin. What he was wearing was nothing short of a glass, or something to spill out of. An obscenely plunging neckline tickled his navel, and the nerves in his bare back were hyperaware of drunken politicians and disparaging wives, brave hands and too-close whispers. 

 

The material felt like a dream on his hips, though. Satin dancing over his legs is a sensation he’ll likely never forget. 

 

And at least it was black. 

 

Akaashi hums, twirling the cosmopolitan he’s been nursing for the hour and a half they’ve been working the room. 

 

“You’re the one who asked Kenma to put me in this.” 

 

“Busted.” 

 

Not that Akaashi minded much. The heels were a killer, though. 

 

“Is Mrs. Diplomat being difficult?” 

 

Reconnaissance was never Kuroo’s cup of tea. Too much milk and sugar. Didn’t cut the tongue quite like search and destroy. 

 

“No. She’s three shots of tequila and a dose and a half of prozac waiting to happen, but she’s putty.” 

 

“Then…?” 

 

Akaashi’s gaze flicks to his diamond wristwatch, not wanting to keep Mr. Diplomat— who is four martinis and a snort or two of cocaine happening— waiting. 

 

There’s something counterproductive in providing an open bar at a charity gala for the crisis of teenage alcoholism. 

 

“Hm,” is all Kuroo offers in response and that’s when Akaashi notices the edge in his eyes— the way something wild threatens to boil over. 

 

Reminds him of their trip to St. Lucia two weeks ago. Akaashi had stabbed a Bratva in the neck and was exhaustively riding Kuroo through their mattress when he found himself melting into the other’s stare. Feral, mammal in its barest term. 

 

Like Kuroo was one deep thrust away from devouring Akaashi, ripping him open just to see more.

 

“Tetsurou.” 

 

A smile cracks over concrete, harsh and hot. 

 

“If he touches you I’ll strangle him. I’ll fucking kill him, Keiji.” 

 

The threat’s not said in a flurry of distress or frustration, no, Kuroo’s teeth are comfortable in their gleam and there’s excitement in the way he fantasizes a limp neck. 

 

It’s been like this ever since the incident in the Westfjords. A fated reunion, Bokuto likes to call it. 

 

Except reunions are not supposed to be so violent or crushing. He and Kuroo did not reunite as much as they collided— forcing iron to meld with fire and force. 

 

They had never been able to do something any other way. It was either making love or murder, Siberian winters or Indian summers, honey or tar. 

 

Akaashi had bashed their intimacy against the shore in the first place. 

 

_I can’t do this anymore._

_This?_

_All of it._

 

He takes responsibility for the typhoon that left both of them spitting sand. He lost eight pounds, Kuroo cut throats. 

 

It was rough. 

 

Putting it back together was less of a puzzle piece and more of a branding— singing it to skin and biting back against the pain. They locked themselves in that cabin at the Westfjords for a number of days they didn’t bother to count. Filled empty hallways with sweet heat and mapped each other out. Rearranged the Northern Lights at will. Made promises of forever and oblivion. 

 

Kuroo’s voice is sparked with their bruising love. 

 

Swallowing the arousal at the back of his tongue, Akaashi wonders if sneaking off for a quickie in the men’s room could be considered proper protocol with the right framing. 

 

“I’ll introduce you as my cousin. You’ll have to play sidekick, however. He doesn’t like to have the limelight stolen. A lot of smiling and nodding,” he explains as he fiddles with Kuroo’s tie. 

 

Noticing broad shoulders relaxing, grin clicking into its usually feline place, Akaashi takes a sip of his cocktail. It burns, but not nearly enough. 

 

“Oh, dove. You’re the best.” 

 

The pet name makes his cheeks burst with a color akin to his cosmo, but continues to busy his free hand by adjusting Kuroo’s suit jacket. Italian cut despite Akaashi’s constant reminders that American would be better for mobility. 

 

His hand brushes against cold metal concealed in silk lining and thrill moves between Akaashi’s thighs, brief but frigid in the way it makes his body shiver. 

 

_Named her Chaminade._

_You named your pistol?_

_What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?_

 

Kuroo notices. 

 

“Didn’t think I’d come to this thing unarmed, did you?”

 

“Of course not.” It was a given. Akaashi’s own weapon was holstered above his knee. 

 

But no one could shoot a gun quite like Kuroo did. 

 

“They’ll be wondering where we are. Come on,” Akaashi breaks the silence when all Kuroo can do is rake his eyes over the satin clad curves in front of him. 

 

Caution thrown to the wind, the taller reaches to caress a sliver of skin framed by jet gloss and _huh_ Akaashi hadn’t noticed the love bite on his thigh until then. 

 

“So pretty, dove.” 

 

Akaashi slaps the hand away. 

 

Urges Kuroo to focus before the kitchen staff catches them fucking. 

 

Kuroo pouts, but yields. 

 

For now. 

 

The rest of the night is a golden chandelier blur. 

 

_That is a beautiful dress._

_Thank you._

_I’ve got the same one in blue._

_It sounds lovely._

_Didn’t seem appropriate for the theme to me. But you pull it off so well!_

 

Pinpricked with passive aggression and questioning stares. 

 

Y _ou know the tall handsome one— the one over there— right?_

_Ah, yes._

_Could you give him my card? You’re both welcome to drop by anytime._

 

Tinged with the red in his eyes when overly manicured hands graze suit collars. 

 

_Did you arrive with anyone tonight?_

_My cousin—_

_So he wouldn’t mind if you accompanied me to a more… private venue?_

 

With a cloying cherry on top. 

 

Akaashi excuses himself by saying that it’s getting late to conceal the way he notices Kuroo getting restless, reckless. 

 

They had gotten everything they needed, and the only thing that was left was to relay the intel to the agency. 

 

That could wait, though. 

 

Kuroo seems to think the same thing. 

 

Especially as they’re stumbling into their penthouse suite after a too-long-but-not-long-enough elevator ride, russet hickies already staining Kuroo’s neck. 

 

Payback for the bruising hold on Akaashi’s hips.

 

If it were any other time— any other phase of their lives— they’d no doubt put on some surround sound Al Green and make a grab at complimentary champagne. Woo each other drunkenly with cheesy pickup lines and bubbly giggles. They’d make slow, sweet love on the flokati sheepskin rug. Whisper nothings as they traced the generous view of the city skyline provided by the windows that overtook the entire eastern wall.

 

But animalistic doesn’t accurately describe the way they want each other. Everything is urgent in their intimacy— as if wasting too much time could mean turning to dust, slipping through the other’s fingers. 

 

It’s fragile. They’re fragile, but fearless in the way they crash into each other to smear spit and sweat over old wounds. There is no caution in their mending. 

 

_Religious_ lodges itself into Akaashi’s mind. The way they love. How they had found each other burning in the darkest trench and became salvation through devouring flesh and blood— turning water to wine and slaughtering lambs. Hating the sin, not the sinner. 

 

But ravishing the sinner all the same.

 

Akaashi drops to his knees to worship. And though it’s not nearly as holy as prayer, it’s twice as effective. 

 

Forgiveness is sticky and thick, but tonight it isn’t bestowed so easily. 

 

Not when Kuroo tsks as Akaashi leans forward to swipe his tongue over the obvious bulge in expensive wool, gripping the smaller’s delicate jaw as he reaches into his suit jacket. 

 

Akaashi forgets how to breathe when he spots the familiar shape of steel. 

 

“Suck, dove. For me.” Then the pistol’s being pressed to his lips and Akaashi’s knuckles turn white from the self control that comes with not touching skin— knowing very well that anything not explicitly permitted by Kuroo leads to skin flushing, teary punishment. 

 

The curse that escapes Kuroo when he sees Akaashi take the gun between his lips, though, is enough repentance. 

 

It is filthy— the way Akaashi shamelessly swirls his tongue around the barrel, silently begs to make him choke. 

 

Kuroo complies. Never one to deny his beautiful dove, his free hand moves to tug at silky black curls, leaving an eager throat open enough to be fucked properly.

 

Spit pooling at the corners of his mouth, Akaashi can feel a trickle of drool race down his chin, the fingers deadlocked in his hair, and, most intensely, the pistol grazing his tongue, the back of his throat, feels breaths fighting to escape when he gags. 

 

Don’tcomedon’tcomedon’tcome is all Akaashi can chant to himself as he grinds down on empty space. He’s pathetically hard and Kuroo had told him to remove his silk underthings once they had entered the room so now there’s only satin brushing against leaking heat and he’s about to lose his damn mind.

 

“Look at me.” Akaashi had screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to regroup, not wanting to fall apart quite yet. 

 

But then eyes akin to the sea are meeting ones akin to the sun, and Kuroo forces the gun down as far as it can go before pulling it out, greedy and breathless and brutal. 

 

Akaashi coughs, shudders when Kuroo descends on him like predator to prey. 

 

Slick with saliva, Kuroo traces the gun down expanses of pale skin— neck to chest and down to a toned thigh, lips fluttering just out of reach. Then there’s the taller’s large hands traveling expanses of fabric, lifting it to pool at Akaashi’s waist.

 

“You looked so good, you know that, dove? Gagging on my gun. I should reward you.” 

 

A breathless nod follows from Akaashi and all of a sudden Kuroo is dark pleasure, snaking down his body to leave open mouthed kisses wherever he can reach. Akaashi is too aware of how frustratingly lovely satin feels against his chest, how wrecked he must look with his gown falling off his shoulder and exposing a pulsing _want_. 

 

“You’re so hard. Did you like it that much?”

 

When Akaashi only whimpers in reply, Kuroo bites at his hipbone, tracing his lover’s hardness with the barrel of his pistol. 

 

“Answer me.”

 

Akaashi keens.

 

“Fuck— _yes_ , Tetsurou.” 

 

Wet and hot and so _close_ , Kuroo’s mouth continues to mark everywhere but where Akaashi needs him the most and his fingers are pulling at that outrageous bedhead. Begging, begging, begging. Swearing that he’d make Kuroo pay with hard tugs and 

 

_Shit_. A stripe from the tip of his dick to its base is outlined by Kuroo’s tongue. 

 

A shiver racks through Akaashi’s body, but his nails only scratch against the other’s scalp when that tongue moves to the head of his cock, and when Kuroo _sucks_. 

 

Akaashi doesn’t dare give the other the satisfaction of a moan or mewl, not even he hollows out his cheeks and takes him all and it feels beyond good. 

 

“That won’t do,” Kuroo hums when he comes up for air, apparently displeased with how well Akaashi seems to be taking this. And as proud as that should make the younger feel, he so badly wants to tell Kuroo that he’s about to come undone and he needs to be fucked unconscious but _pride_ and all that. 

 

So when Kuroo noses Akaashi’s thighs, a silent request to spread them further— they’re opened without a whine or mutter. And when strong hands lift his knees, Akaashi just swallows. 

 

“You’re mine, you know. And I’ll kill anyone who gets in the way. I love you so much.” 

 

There’s no doubt. There was never a doubt that Kuroo would kill for Akaashi, whether it be with bullets or his bare hands. 

 

“I love you too—“ but it’s cut off when Kuroo dips his head down, and all Akaashi can do is stutter out some pathetic babble as the other laps at his hole. 

 

And then Kuroo’s eating him out like a fucking pro, like he was born to do this, with little grazes of teeth and a tongue that should be illegal and it’s so unfair, it is. 

 

Kuroo’s nails are digging crescent moons into pale thighs and Akaashi swears he’s speaking another language, like he’s been blessed by the Holy Spirit because Kuroo Testuroo has his face buried between his thighs and maybe there is a God. 

 

“Take this off and fuck me, Tetsu,” it’s almost growled out as he fumbles for Kuroo’s suit jacket. He knows the older hears him, but instead of letting up he only grins and his tongue really goes to work, fucking in and out of his soaking and desperate lover.

 

Akaashi lets out the most frustrated and wanton moan. 

 

“I’m going to fucking die, Tetsurou, _please_ ,” and with that, Kuroo pulls back to remove his suit jacket ever so slowly, unbuttons his shirt and Akaashi is gone, barely there as he reaches up and rips expensive fabric open and pops buttons, pulls him down for a kiss. 

 

And of course Kuroo— always prepared for their filthy romps any time or place— has got some expensive lube in his pocket and he fishes it out as Akaashi bites and licks at his lips, tastes himself. 

 

Akaashi’s jaw goes slack at the first finger, but soon enough he’s holding onto Kuroo for dear life, panting out “more, more, more” as he rocks back to the knuckle. 

 

“I was so close to taking you in front of everyone, Keiji. So they’d know— they’d know how undone you come with just my fingers, how badly you ache for my cock, hm? But I’m the only one who can see you like this, Keiji. No on else.” There’s three fingers stretching Akaashi open and he feels like he’ll drop off the edge of the earth any second now. 

 

“Tetsurou— I need it. Please, for the love of God just fuck me—“ 

 

“On your knees.” 

 

It’s an order, and Akaashi follows without question, hoping and anticipating the relief of Kuroo filling him to the brim, fucking him open til he’s drooling on himself. 

 

But instead Kuroo’s moving away and Akaashi does whine then, cut short by the other crooking his finger with a simple command. 

 

“Crawl to me.”

 

Primal. In the way he slides knees and palms over expensive flooring and plush rugs. In the way he eyes Kuroo, tall frame embraced by the bright sin of the city. In the way he wants to dig his teeth into muscle and tendons, pull on flesh to test its bounds. 

 

Kuroo is so strong as he pulls Akaashi off the floor, hoists him up so his lover’s back is to those impressive windows and strong hands are supporting him. 

 

The way Akaashi hooks his legs around the other’s waist is natural and he offers a breathy moan at the way Kuroo is kneading and spreading the softness beneath his hands. 

 

His arms rest on broad shoulders, rocks his hips down to tease at Kuroo’s painfully hard dick— slick with lube and so thick it makes Akaashi dizzy. 

 

“Show everyone how good you fuck me, Tetsu.” 

 

And Kuroo’s groaning then, losing all control as he finally finally snaps his hips up and it’s searing, the way Kuroo enters him but _god_ is it phenomenal. 

 

They gain a rhythm in no time, with Kuroo bouncing Akaashi on his dick and Akaashi reveling in the delicious heat between them and brisk glass at his back. 

 

It’s Kuroo’s turn to mumble sweet nothings into skin, lets his mouth run no matter where it takes him because Akaashi is “so goddamn _tight_ ” and “so good on me”. 

 

Akaashi knows Kuroo is beautiful, and he tightens his hold on his shoulders to fumble for the holster on his own thigh, careful to keep his hold on his pistol as he brings it to his own lips to lick and suck just a bit. 

 

“Fuck,” is all that he can make out from Kuroo’s prayers before he invites the pistol on his tongue and Akaashi nearly comes at the sight. 

 

Thrill seekers. 

 

That’s what some people would call them. 

 

Seekers, biters, gropers. 

 

“Nobody takes your cock like I do.” Akaashi pants, pushes the gun against the roof of his lover’s mouth before removing it to slide slick over his neck and chest.

 

“No one ever will, Tetsurou. I’ll choke any bitch who says otherwise.” 

 

Kuroo looks best with a gun, whether it be grasped firmly in his hand, positioned between his collarbones, or being soaked in between his lips. 

 

And he’s Akaashi’s, no on else’s His to melt, tear, and kiss into.

 

“Keiji.” 

 

With that broken groan, Akaashi knows Kuroo’s close because _fuck_ , he is too. And his own erection is sliding between their bodies— between satin and muscle and it’s _unreal_. 

 

It’s unreal, the storm that floods his lower abdomen as Kuroo’s thrusts become merciless and how his tongue darts out to lick that deadly pistol and how he pushes bruises into Akaashi’s thighs. 

 

His climax is unreal, so good it rattles his body to the bone and strangles a hiccup of “Tetsurou” out of him as he stains that glorious dress with ribbons of pleasure. 

 

Kuroo nearly drops him once he’s fucked his own orgasm into his lover, but manages to set him down with boneless arms. 

 

Leaning his forehead on Akaashi’s, he kisses the tip of his nose, settles his hands on those hips. 

 

“Such a dangerous little thing,” he teases and Akaashi can’t help but flush despite the exhaustion ripping through his body. 

 

“You’re the only one for me, Tetsurou. You know that?” 

 

It’s sentimental, more sentimental than Akaashi usually lets himself be but Kuroo has fucked him to oblivion so maybe he has an excuse. 

 

Kuroo blinks, but the surprise is quickly overshadowed by bliss. 

 

“Course I do. You’re my dove. I’ve got you. You’ve got me.” 

 

Quite literally at this point. Akaashi can’t help but think since his legs are jelly and he’s leaning on his lover’s solid body to keep him from kissing the floor. 

 

“And you don’t think I’m— I- “ 

 

Hanging off his tongue, dried blood and rust from the wreck of their collision. 

 

_It’s ok to like it._

_No, it’s not._

 

“I think you’re perfect, Keiji. I’d die for you. I’d do anything for you.” 

 

The honesty in his lover’s eyes— raw and red and sincere— is all he needs. The way he says it, as if its a verse from the Holy Book, makes Akaashi lean up to steal another kiss. 

 

“Kuroo.” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“You’re a sap.”

**Author's Note:**

> gucci gucci louis louis fendi fendi prada 
> 
> i listen to such embarrassing playlists when writing smut. 
> 
> if you guys have any requests for what you want from this work or anything in general dont be afraid to comment i am a mere dink. 
> 
> also i think the next thing i'll write for this might be bokuken.


End file.
